


Lude, nude, skrewed

by BDBeeb



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Chains, Dungeon, M/M, Rape, all the cons, dub con, just full out rape, noncon, super sex dungeon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-10 14:05:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11693211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BDBeeb/pseuds/BDBeeb
Summary: Dean's chained up, drugged in a sex dungeon.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Blue_Five](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Five/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Defiant](https://archiveofourown.org/works/871591) by [Blue_Five](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Five/pseuds/Blue_Five). 



> Got the basic idea from a lovely story by Blue_Five. It's called 'Defiant'--check it out: http://archiveofourown.org/works/871591/chapters/1673996  
> It's a two-parter, but let's be honest - i'm only here for the torture.
> 
> Just tweaked it a bit. More of an homage, really.  
> Both stories are set in Crowley's sex dungeon where Dean is held and drugged. This is where the stories diverge. One has alphas and omegas, this is not that story. Just old fashion ecstasy and maybe some heroin. And Dean will not be rescued in this one. I like where he is too much. 
> 
> Carry on....

He wakes in a room, dark, cold. Shackled so tight that the metal bites into his wrists -- blood flowing down his arms when he struggles.  
   His feet are chained to a bar, which is bolted to the bed frame so that he can spin when they want him front-down.

He doesn't know how how long he has been here, or how it is he has come to be in this place -- this hell.  
   He only knows that every day they come, and every day they hurt him.

He used to promise himself that he would not cry or beg, but he has broken those promises too often, too much.  
   He doesn't promise himself such things anymore.

He is always naked and beyond any humiliation.  
   He is drugged.  
     He yells and tries to run from the needle, from the probing hands; but he has nowhere to go.  
The needle bites his skin and he welcomes the rush - his momentary escape. Until his skin turns to fire; a fire only soothed by the burning hands that trace their way over, down, and across his body. Leaving cool trails on his flesh in their wake. Ecstasy.

When it is all over and the drugs have done their work, said their farewell - he remembers the penetrations, his own wanton moans, begging for more because it was never enough. And the shame fills him. Until he can take no more, then they come again with the needle - his hated friend.

 

The first was Crowley. He didn't drug Dean that first time. He wanted to see him struggle against a loosing fight. To watch the light leave his eyes when he was made to orgasm against all willpower. And when he finished inside of him, he wanted - needed - Dean to feel the traces of Crowley. Feel it mix with his own spilled blood and leak from Dean's wasted body.

Crowley wanted all of this, and so it was done.


	2. Take 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley switched up the torture when he began making Dean beg for the drugs.

 

Alone in the room, the darkness played terrible tricks on Deans mind in the off times.  He began craving the cocktail of drugs they gave him – and when the guards noticed this, they changed up the game.  Dean now had to please the clients with a clear head, his choice for the drugs he needed. 

 

He trembled when he heard the door buzz and clang open.  He stares above himself, at the wall; not willing to see who is entering.   Footsteps echoing on the cold stone walls.  Pressure on the bed and a creak in the spring mattress.  Dean gulped. 

‘Look at me.’

Slowly, painfully, Dean complied.  He stared up at the man who was straddling him, but didn’t want to look into those dark eyes.

‘You sent me back to hell, Winchester. Now, you’re gonna pay.’

Nostrils flared, sweat beading all over his body, Dean raised his head as far off the mattress as he could, leveled his stare into the demon eyes before him and snarled, ‘fuck you, you black-eyed son of a bitch.’

For his spirited answer he received a swift and strong slap to the side of his face. His ear rang and his face stung.  His breathing quickened when he was flipped over onto his stomach by supernaturally strong hands.  No one ever prepared him, he was never worked open.  He was always ripped into by thrusts that stole his breath.  Thrust after thrust, Dean felt the foreign penetration work its way further into him. He didn’t have to fake the moan he heard come his own throat when the demon dick scratched over his prostate.  The demon defiling him grabbed the back of Dean’s head, shoving his face down into the stained mattress.

‘you moan like a whore’

Shame filled Dean, it coursed through his veins and covered his face in red.  He’d always thought he’d just die young, guns blazing, without hesitation or apology.  He never thought he’d be stuck in this perpetual fuck fest.  He longed for death – a permanent death. 

He felt the demon’s sweat drip onto his back; gagged, fighting the urge to vomit.  He’d tried escaping into his mind early on, but it had only tarnished those good memories.  He didn’t want to spoil any more, he didn’t dare dream of freedom either.  Hope ends in a deep despair.

The demon’s thrusts became untimed, and Dean knew his degradation was coming.  Truthfully, he didn’t know which was worse; when they came inside of him, it was a violation – or when they came on his skin, they marked him as their used toy.  Both made Dean sick, but when the evidence of his rape could dry out on his back, sticking to his hair and cracking, pulling when he moved..he decided he hated that the most.  The demon pulled out and fisting himself in his meatsuit hand, finished onto Dean’s back.  Dean’s eyes filled with tears when he realized his own cock was hard.    

 


End file.
